Guards! Guards!

And we're off; with the introduction of Sam Vimes and his crew, the Discworld is truly in gear. Once again, Pratchett goes back to the well of The Rightful King Returns, only this time with even less respect for the idea as anything but a cheap trick at best and full-on fascism at worst. (It's a story about a wannabe power player who summons an uncontrollable evil that rules through absolute lawless repression and violence; in other words, pure fantasy and completely unrelated to anything in the real world.)

And in its way, just a bunch of underpaid civil servants who really don't want to be in its way: a handful of disillusioned cops and a librarian. Because hero isn't something you are, it's something you do for 30 dollars a month, even if it has a million to one chance of actually making a difference.

"Do you believe all that, sir?“ he said. "About the endless evil and the sheer blackness?”
“Indeed, indeed,” said the Patrician, turning over the page. “It is the only logical conclusion.”
“But you get out of bed every morning, sir?”
“Hmm? Yes? What is your point?”
“I’d just like to know why, sir.”
“Oh, do go away, Vimes. There’s a good fellow."